


bruised but bleating (bleeding like a lamb)

by ficfucker



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: freddy slips up
Relationships: Mr. Orange/Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	bruised but bleating (bleeding like a lamb)

**Author's Note:**

> single use of f slur, nongraphic sex, description of freddys gunshot wound
> 
> title from nick cave and the bad seeds "cannibals hymn"

Freddy's nerves. All nerves. Of course he is. He hides it behind a smile or a cigarette or an attempt at a joke. There's something exhilarating in the anxiety. Makes Freddy feel sharp and slick, sleek in his stupid, stupid leather jacket, grinning like a thief when he's given attention and no one thinks twice about who is.

He's Mr. Orange.

He's the rookie punk ready to go with a grin or a wise crack comment. Got his gun. Got his name. Has Mr. White right there beside him at every turn.

Other officer's give him shit. Remind him of the dangers, but Freddy is coasting along on a sugar high. Kicking it with criminals, taking the mental notes. Gets to go home and report back to base like he's 11 years old again and spying on the neighbors, walkie-talkie-ing to friends. It's real life this time. It's like coke injected straight to the brain. Makes him dizzy with excitement.

Wants to leap right out of his act and be hailed for taking down the bad guys solo. Movie-style. Make his worth known to the public.

He daydreams of it: some James Bond elaborate trap that gets all the men behind bars. That gets his smile printed black and white on the front page.

* * *

And then there's White.

Dad figure turned infatuation turned lust.

Obvious how hot Freddy (oops, mean Mr. Orange) is for the guy. Gives him window-wide doe eyes without meaning to. Half lidded and half smirking. Laughing along to whatever joke falls out of the man's mouth.

Pink has made a remark about it. Met with White telling him just where to shove it. A further threat of licking the barrel of a hot gun if Pink had anything else to add.

No denial, though, which lights Freddy up like a goddamn pyre.

* * *

Larry drives into Freddy from behind like he's getting paid to do it. Really hits home. Freddy twists like a flower petal under him. He wants to tell him his name, beg for Larry to say it. Wants so badly to hear Larry saying, "Freddy, my Freddy," it makes his ears ring while his body is being jerked around.

Freddy likes Larry so much, he'd be willing to let him fuck him missionary. Been told by his first hookup fags didn't do it that way because it confronts the reality of it. At some point, one dude is going to realize they're both sick primates reaching for each other's genitals and the history of that has not been pretty. Would lead to more than just broken hearts.

But Freddy wants it. Wants all of it and more and it makes him ache dumbly. He buries his head in the pillows and muffles his moans. Larry keeps holding his hips and fucking him, murmuring something far too soft for the moment. Pet names like sweetheart and darling because Freddy is anonymous. Is both here and not. Is a cop and criminal.

Afterwards, Larry kisses below Freddy's eye. "Did I hurt you?" he asks quietly.

And Freddy swallows, shakes his head. He won't admit to why he's gone bleary-eyed. He kind of fakes a smile and asks if Larry can stay a bit longer, _please, Larry, don't leave me, can't you see I'm a kid in too deep?_

Larry stays, but by morning, Freddy wakes up alone. In his stale-sex bed. Haunted by the impending horror of what's to come with no way out.

In the kitchen, on a note:

_Tacos again? Whenever you're free. L.D._

* * *

Freddy writhes like an eel, kicks his legs out before letting them slump. His head swims, visions drops with a thump behind his eyelids. Oh yeah, he's fucked. He's not getting out of this one. Can't giggle and bullshit another spin of luck.

He draws his hand up, looks at the blood gumming between his fingers. It's amazing, how much blood he's got in him. How much blood he's got out of him. A lake of it now, half coagulated. Dark clots stick to whatever part they can cling to. It squelches beneath him with each shift. Sounds like someone stirring jam.

It's funny, in a sick way, how hot a bullet is. Freddy never would have guessed. He never slowed down to consider that specific detail.

He wants to laugh.

He wants Larry to come back.

A puff expands his lungs, shrinks them back down. He tries to reach over, but he's spinning out like the back wheel on a crashed bike.

Over and over, he begs for Larry. Pleads for him to return.

And at some point during this, his body becomes too exhausted to keep up and he shudders down into sleep as though that will protect him.

**Author's Note:**

> uwu thank you for reading
> 
> talk to me on tmblr @ficfucker


End file.
